“Beautiful! Beautiful!” grumbled Bob. “It’ll soon be as black as tar, and we’ll get stuck ten miles from nowhere.”
“Oh, don’t find fault,” advised Jerry good-naturedly. “We may make it yet.”
Ned peered anxiously ahead through the mist of rain, seeking to make out the road, which was illuminated by the powerful gas lamps. It was risky driving, but there was no help for it, and he was not well acquainted with the route.
“Can’t you get a little more speed out of her?” asked Jerry, when there came a lull in the storm.
“I’m afraid to risk it,” replied the youthful steersman. “If we happen to hit a big stone it will be all up with us. Wow! This is Lonesomeville for fair!”
They were on a dark and deserted stretch of the road. There seemed to be no houses within miles, and the storm was at its height.
Suddenly there was a sound like a gun shot. The motor boys started, but well they knew what it was.
“A blowout!” groaned Bob.
“I should say it was,” agreed Jerry grimly. “It couldn’t have happened at a worse time, either. Where in the world are we?”
He peered through a crack in the curtains, out on the dismal rain-soaked blackness, but could make out nothing.